Portrait
by ritsam
Summary: Teenchester, Sam 17/Dean 22. Someone thinks Sam is a good model for a portrait and Sam really needs some money. Limp/Angry Sam; Worried/Protective Dean; Protective John.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sam and Dean, they own me!**

**Rating: K+**

**Beta: Vonnie836

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**PORTRAIT

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"But Dad, please. I need this money. If I don't submit it within this week, they won't let me go on the geological trip." Sam pleaded with his father in a pitiful voice, but John Winchester remained stoic as always.

"Sam, how many times do I have to tell you that I can't afford money for this kinda luxury? I can't give the money to you." John softly answered but his voice was firm.

"But Dad, it's only a matter of fifty dollars." Sam didn't want to whine. Winchesters don't whine and he was a seventeen year old young man. Boys of his age usually don't beg for such measly amounts of money. But when it came to Winchester majesties, the situation reversed. Here you had to give enough explanation why you needed money, except bearing for foods or mere belongings. Study, school-projects, tours, when it concerned money, John wasn't ready to give any single bit of it without having enough reason… 'butting heads' were the right words according to Sam. Sam had to literally bend down to his knees, if he needed some really small amount of money for something. Sometimes Sam wondered, if John was his real Dad or not, because he had never seen that Dean was having problems with his Dad or earning money. It looked like John always was bound to be ready to refuse Sam for anything he wanted.

Speaking of earning money, Sam didn't have permission for going in a bar or somewhere where he could have played pool or worked in a shop or diner. It didn't mean that he was unable to do such work, once he had worked in a local diner as a waiter but the job had gone horribly wrong. First of all, Dean had been utterly p*ssed, when he'd found out that his little brother wanted a job for making money because it was his job to take care of his little brother. He knew that his brother had grown up really fast and now he was officially taller than him; but still, he was his little Sammy and always would be. So, it wasn't Sammy's job to make money for their livelihood. But being a son of a Winchester, Sam didn't budge from his decision and kept pressuring for permission. After so many annoying pleas and arguments, John at last gave him permission…ignoring Dean _'what the hell'_ glare.

"**Dad, what the hell? Why are you giving Sammy permission for that crappy job?" Dean sounded really harried.**

"**Dean, come on. I am not a child anymore…" Sam interrupted irritated.**

"**Shut up Sam." Dean squinted his eyes to his father. "…Dad?"**

"**Ask your brother. He is driving me crazy and if he gets involved in some work I can do my job in peace." John sat down heavily on the worn out couch and booted up the laptop.**

"**So that means if he starts b*tching about anything…" Sam started to argue but stopped when Dean gave a death glare**_**'Shut up or I will shut you off'**_**he clamped his mouth shut; "…you will give him anything just to get rid of his whining."**

"**I don't whine…" Sam muffled.**

**Dean gritted his teeth and deliberately ignored his****querulous little brother and asked his father in an angry tone.**

"**Daad…?"**

"**Oh c'mon Dean, cut me some slack, wouldja'?" Now John was frustrated. He put the laptop beside him and looked straight at Dean's green orbs. "I am here for a job and I need to concentrate on it. You know how dangerous a soul eater could be? And still now I haven't found out a single thing about that witch or whatever it is." John's voice was rising in octave. "Five people died in one month and if we don't get rid of that thing, God knows how many will die in the crossfire. And if Sam wants to do a part time job, then let him. At least he will stop frying my brain."**

**Sam's face was beaming, though he was not happy hearing his father's choice of words about him.**

**Dean's mouth hung open, hearing his father's speech. He stared at him disbelievingly for a couple of seconds and then blurted. "But Dad, you know this town is not good enough. Besides, there is only one diner nearby and as far I know some regular gangsters visit there." Dean sounded worried. "I don't think that is good place for a teenage boy like Sammy."**

"**What do you think of me Dean? That I can't defend myself? I am a Winchester damn it." Sam angrily yelled.**

"**If you cuss one more time Sammy, I will clock your big mouth." Dean warned and Sam was fuming in anger. He clenched and unclenched his fists several times but remained muted.**

"**Dad, I don't think this is a good idea letting Sam go for that job." Dean heatedly said.**

"**I do think it is and I will go. Dad gave me permission." Sam spat.**

"**I didn't."**

"**Who died and made you boss?"**

"**You can't go."**

"**I can and I will."**

"**Why are so interested for that job?"**

"**I need money."**

"**I will give it to you."**

"**How long? And besides, I can earn my own money. I'm not dependant on you."**

"**Sam, if you bad mouth with me again, I will…"**

"**Hit me, I am ready for it. Do you think I can't pay you back?"**

"**Sammy that's enough."**

"**Its Sam."**

**Now John had had enough. He could not be bothered with his boys arguing endlessly like this. He was frustrated. God, his both boys were stubborn like hell. And besides, Sam joining some local job wouldn't hurt anybody. And it would help them to collect some extra bucks for their livelihood. After all Sam wouldn't be in some crappy bar, working in the local diner wouldn't be that bad.**

"**Enough boys. Stop butting heads. Dean back off, Sam shut your mouth." John commanded.**

**Both boys squirmed a little and looked at their father. John rubbed a weary hand over his face and told, "Okay Sam, you can go for a part time job." Sam smiled winningly and Dean's face fell in defeat.**

"**But Dad…"Dean opened his mouth but John stopped him in mid way.**

"**Dean, it's okay. He will be fine and besides it will help us, if he earns some money." John supported his youngest.**

**Dean's mouth hung open in shock. He couldn't believe what his father was saying.**

"**So, now you're gonna use your son for making money? Real heroic Dad." Dean was fuming in anger.**

"**Watch your tone with me Dean and I'm not using anyone. If Sam needs money for his school or anything, he has to earn it anyway. You can't baby him every time, he is big boy now."**

"**Yeah." Sam added and Dean's anger rose a few degrees higher.**

"**Okay. Two against one, huh!" Dean punched angrily on the couch and spat. "If something happens, I am warning you Sam…"**

"**I will see."**

"**Fine."**

"**Fine."**

**Both brothers turned away from each other and strode off.**

Later that day, Sam went to the local diner and accepted his job. He was happy, because he was going to get fifty dollars for a week. The diner was actually quite good, but sometimes a couple of bikers and gangsters came there and made the whole diner real noisy and awful. Dean was right about one thing, those bikers were dangerous and everyone at the diner was scared of them. Sam was the youngest of everyone and quite shy and he didn't bump on them. That didn't mean that he was afraid of them. He just needed his work, he didn't want to face them _and boy_, those bikers were really huge.

The first two days went really well, though Dean was quite anxious about his brother. After their bitter argument, they didn't talk to each other, except the most necessary. But Dean was worried. He knew that the town wasn't as good as anyone could expect. Besides, there was a witch or soul eater or whatever the thing was wandering around freely and they didn't have a single clue about it. They came to this town almost a week ago and the research was showing a neat result of perfect zero. And now this, Sam's constant b*tching about taking a job that was too risky for a young boy like him. So yeah, Dean was practically worrying to death.

Three days after Sam took the job Dean got a phone call around 5 in the afternoon. He was at a bar at that moment and swigging beers. He frowned when he saw an unregistered number on his phone but took it anyway.

"**Hello!"**

"**Hello, is this Dean?" An unknown voice asked.**

"**Who wants to know?" Dean annoyingly asked.**

"**Listen, I am Sean calling from 'Corby's Diner'. Is Sam your brother?"**

**After hearing Sam's name in that manner Dean's protective gear sped up high.**

"**Yes, what's with my brother?"**

**The voice answered. "Well, your brother got involved in a fight with some local gangsters and they beat him real bad. After we threatened to call police, they ran away. But your brother is hurt pretty bad and kept calling your name over and over. Should we call an ambulance or wait for you?"**

**Dean already bolted from his seat and ran to his car. "No, no, no, I'm coming, I'm coming." Dean revved his car.**

"**Is he conscious?"**

"**Barely."**

"**Okay, try to keep him awake, I will be there in a bit."**

**By the time Dean reached the diner, he left his baby parked haphazardly at the side of the road. He strode into the bar and saw people gathered around at one place and he knew what or who was the reason for the gathering. He ran to the spot and found his little brother sprawled on the floor, his face smeared with blood, one eye blackened. "Oh God Sammy," Dean took his injured brother in his arms and ran his hand over his body trying to detect, if he sustained any other injuries. But fortunately he found none, other than some heavy bruising. His heart felt a little lighter when he saw Sam's eyes fluttered opened and he whimpered.**

"**Sammy, Sammy you okay!"**

"**D'n?" Sam whispered though he sounded slightly unsure if it was really Dean or he was just hallucinating.**

"**Yeah, it's me Sammy?" Dean wrapped a protective arm around his brother and asked the manager who called him earlier. "What happened?"**

"**As I told you before, some bikers came here and messed with your brother. Well, they usually do that to everyone but we always stay ten feet away from them." The manager said and looked at Sam, who lay bloodied in his brother's embrace. "But this boy fought with them, when they tried to mess with him…" The man beamed in excitement, "…boy, you should have seen him, when he clocked those jerks straight in their mouths…"**

'_**That's my boy'**_**Dean couldn't help but felt proud of his little brother but didn't say anything. He carefully pulled Sam up on his feet and guided him to the car. His heart felt sore whenever he heard Sam whimper in pain, but intense anger at his brother was gradually mounting. "I warned you Sam, I knew it this would happen. Now look at you. You freak."**

After that bitter incident, Sam was strictly forbidden to go out anywhere without permission and taking a job was out of the question. John was highly p*ssed at Sam after that, though he was feeling guilty that he was the one who gave Sam permission to take the job after Dean's enormous warning. Speaking of Dean, Sam was literally afraid of him the first couple of days and obeyed everything he ordered. If he tried to protest just a little bit, Dean pulled the card, _**'I warned you and you didn't listen. Now you have to listen to everything I tell you'**_ and after a while Sam begun to get p*ssed at him too. And now his Dad was on Dean's side and Sam once again was dependant on them for money and everything else, which he didn't like at all.

This was the story of almost six days ago, and now Sam Winchester needed money again. And they were practically out of bucks. It had been a rough week and they had to waste a lot of money for research and other crap. And now Sammy needed some money for his excursion and he had only five dollars left. That all sucked. And when he had asked his father for some _ahh_ help, he had clearly been refused. 'no', 'can't waste money for luxury…', 'no job either', etcetera etcetera. If Sam opened his mouth to argue they stopped him mid way. 'You didn't listen to us before, and see what happened;' 'no way'…and then all Sam wanted to say was, 'Just shut the hell up', but unfortunately…he couldn't.

Now where were they, oh yeah…

"But Dad, it's only a matter of fifty dollars. Please Dad, it's a matter of my grade. I will loose marks if I don't go on that trip"

"Doesn't matter Sammy. Besides, it's only a short test." John calmly answered. "It won't kill you if you don't get to go to that trip."

"It's Sam." Sam grumbled, and he added_**'I hate you'**_ in his head.

John chuckled. "Okay Sam. Why don't you research a bit more about the witch hunt? I could really use some help."

Sam's face contorted in anger after hearing John's clear refusal. He gritted his teeth and snickered. "Gotta go to school. See ya later."

Sam snatched his backpack angrily and stormed out of the room

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Sam was walking with his hands jammed into his jackets pocket. It was a cold afternoon and a frosty gust of wind was blowing and chilling his bones through the thick layer of sweaters and jacket. It was almost past five, he knew he was literally late for home but he ignored it.

Today he had spent an awful day in school. Everyone in his class was going to the Geo trip except him. His friends were driving him completely crazy by questioning him why he wasn't going? It was a matter of a couple of dollars. He somehow managed them by mumbling some incoherent answers, but he was angry as hell. Only fifty dollars…man, a father should spend such a small amount of money for his children. At least let him earn it; he knew he screwed up big times with his job and he couldn't blame his father and brother for not letting him go for a job…but still, they should have thought of something. And those kinds of things happen, that didn't mean he wouldn't be able to do such jobs ever again in his life.

Sam shivered as the bone chilling wind blew again and looked at the evening sky. It was getting darker and thick black clouds were gradually obscuring the western sky. "Looks like rain is coming" Sam mumbled and quickened his pace.

The road was almost deserted. Only one or two cars were passing by and people were scattered here and there. Almost all shops were closed, God knew why. And the people of the town were looking scared. Well, those disappearances were making people real afraid Sam thought. And still now they didn't have a single clue about that witch. She must be too clever and hiding in plain sight and that was not a good thing for hunters; especially for Winchesters.

Sam seemed to be lost in his thought, when suddenly he noticed an old man crossing the road, his hands full with canvas, paint brushes, color bottles and suddenly wobbled as the loud honk of a car startled him. Sam watched in horror that the old man seemed to be glued to the ground and the car was coming at him…

"Oh my God…"

Sam dropped his backpack and ran to the old man. When the car was about to hit the old man, Sam skillfully tackled him to the ground and rolled away. Sam grimaced as he felt his knees and ankles were badly bruised and stung like hell.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked as he got up and carefully hauled the old man to his feet.

"Yea…yeah…" The old man panted in heavy exertion. "…that was close. Thank you young man. You saved my life." He brushed the dusts off his clothes. "You seem new here boy?"

"Yeah." Sam took those fallen drawing tools and handed it over to the man. "My name is Sam Trescott. Me and my family came to live here couple of days ago. Here are your things."

"Thank you. I am Mr. Timothy Williams." He watched Sam grabbed his backpack and winced. "Oh boy, are you hurt?"

"No sir, I am okay." Sam smiled reassuringly but his knees were bleeding through the torn jeans.

"No no, you are bleeding son. Come with me, I live at the next block. I will patch you up." The old man worriedly offered Sam.

"No Mr. Williams, you don't have to worry. I am okay. I really am…"

Sam's voice cut off, as Mr. Williams interrupted him. "No Sam. You saved my life, at least let me do something for you. Come with me boy."

Sam sighed and looked at his watch. He was late; but still had got an hour to go home. "Okay then," he softly answered and followed the old man.

Upon entering in the old man's house Sam stood stunned. It was a beautiful bungalow surrounded by a huge garden. The house was big and the furniture was looking quite modern and comfortable. What amazed Sam most were the portraits which were hanging on the wall. There were lots of portraits and all of them were of young men and women. They were all life sized and drawn beautifully, like they were actually alive persons…not made by brush and colors.

"**Wow**."

The old man smiled seeing the young kid's reactions. He put his belongings on a table and went into the kitchen. After giving Sam some antibiotic cream and band aids, he sat on a couch in front of Sam.

"You like those pictures, Sam?"

"Yes, they are awesome." Sam sounded so amazed. "…You made them?"

Mr. Williams smiled. "Yes. I am a painter. But I made them long ago. They were all beautiful people and gave my best sittings for live drawing."

"Yeah, I can see that." Sam got up and stood in the front of a portrait. It was a lady's picture and she seemed to be in her early twenties. Her entire limbs and expressions were drawn perfectly.

"Thank you but you know what; now-a-days people don't want to sit for a live portrait. I haven't drawn anything since last month."

Sam quietly paced to another picture of a young boy like him. He raised his eyebrows; the person in the picture was looking real familiar to him but he could not remember where he had seen him. He startled when he became aware that Mr. Williams was telling him something.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Sam asked.

"I said will you give me a sitting for my next picture? You are so beautiful and I could use your face for my next picture." The old man said gently.

Sam blushed and his cheeks became red. _**'Beautiful, what the hell is he talking about? Chicks are beautiful…not me.'**_ He thought and answered politely.

"Thanks for asking but I don't think I am that good for a picture."

"Oh no young man, you are way better looking than my other models. You're just being polite boy. I would really like to draw your picture. That would be my best drawing ever."

"No, no sir. I don't think…" Sam fondly tried to protest.

"I will pay for your per sitting young man. Twenty dollars for a sitting." Mr. Williams offered him.

"What?" Sam was clearly astonished now.

"Yeah. What do you think I won't give you anything when you are giving your best pose for my painting? I always pay my models. Every painter does that."

"I…ah…" Sam was confused now. _**'Man, twenty dollars for a sitting! That means I could easily earn fifty dollars before my trip.'**_ Sam was thinking fast.

"Sam?"

Sam looked at him and set his mind, _**'Not a bad deal after all'**_ and said, "Alright then. But how many sittings do I have to give?"

Mr. Williams seemed to be thinking for a while. "Well, maybe four or five."

'_**That means almost hundred dollars. Cool.'**_ Sam was beaming in joy inside but didn't show it. _God_, that must be called a miracle, when he really needed some money and begging his heart out to his father. Suddenly this opportunity, no 'golden opportunity' came to him and he was going to earn more than he needed.

"When do I start?" Sam asked.

Mr. Williams carried a canvas in the middle of the room and set all the tools. Then he dragged a beautiful couch in the front of the canvas and told, "Now. Well Sam, you ready!"

"Ahh…yeah!" Sam suddenly was looking little nervous. He had never faced this kind of situation but the amount of payment had really shaken him. After all he was a teenager.

"Okay then. Sam you just sit relaxed alright!" Mr. Williams set his position up and went to his canvas. He picked the led. He measured his model thoroughly and quickly drew an outline of the young man.

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"Where the hell is Sam?" Dean cried angrily and punched the call button of his cell for the fifty third times. It was almost 6:30 p.m. and he had seen no sign of his little brother. He even went to his school but there was no sign of his baby brother either. He searched the whole area but got no clue where his brother was. He called his father and now was frustrated as hell. Dean knew his brother was p*ssed about the trip but no way in hell he would run away for this kind of minor situation. He was not just any usual teenager.

"Damn it. Where are you Sam?" Dean cursed after his call went to his brother's voicemail again. He swerved his car towards their motel and hit his father's number.

"Dad, you found 'm?" Dean asked worriedly.

'_No son, and he isn't answering his phone.'_ John answered.

"Don't you think I know that little fact already, Dad? Of course he isn't answering his damn phone. I am so gonna kick that little b*tch's a*s when I got him." Dean was rambling in utter frustration and worry for his brother.

'_Where're you Dean?'_

"I'm on my way to the motel Dad, gonna check if he returned. I will call you later." Dean flipped the phone shut and headed to their recent destination.

Dean parked his impala in front of their room and entered, hoping to see his brother there. But no such luck. The room was empty, showed absolutely no sign of his lanky geek brother.

"**Sh*t. Where the hell are you Sammy?**" Dean almost screamed and threw his cell phone on the bed. When he was ready to go outside again, the door suddenly opened and someone entered.

"Sam?" Dean called and the figure looked at him.

"Where the hell have you been you stupid brat?" Dean strode to his brother and grabbed his shirt's collar.

Sam stared at him for a second, like he was trying to recognize him or something. Suddenly his facial expression changed and blotted in pure anger. He roughly shoved Dean's hand off his collar and growled.

"Don't you ever talk to me like that, you understand?"

Dean was shocked. What the hell was he hearing? Was that really Sam or someone else? His little brother had never talked to him that way. And he was bellowing like Dean was the blameworthy one.

"Shut up Sam." Dean bawled in anger. "I have been worrying about you since afternoon and now you're p*ssed at me? Don't you think this is something I should do?" His fists were twisting viciously.

"I am not your stupid pet or something. I can do whatever I wanna do. So, suck it up." Sam lips were trembling violently in pure anger and hatred and his face became three shades pale.

Dean couldn't remember when he had last seen his brother this desperate and reckless. And he was mouthing off continuously at Dean, when he should have been apologizing.

"Sam, you better watch your mouth…" Dean warned.

"Or what…?" Sam spat vehemently. He didn't have ant idea why his anger was rising this much. He knew it was entirely his fault and Dean was right about everything, but he just couldn't control himself. It was like every time he looked at his brother, intense anger was bubbling in his veins. "…you gonna hit me?" Sam was breathing dangerously shallow and hot, eyes wide and red; he cursed out loud. "…f*** you Dean?"

Dean's mouth hung open hearing his sensitive, mild natured, sweet mouthed little brother curse this intensely. He would have never imagined that Sam would say something like that to him. He gritted his teeth and slapped Sam's cheek hard.

Sam wasn't ready for the blow and when it came so suddenly, he stumbled backward and grabbed the corner of the nightstand.

Sam was bellowing furiously. _**'How dare Dean hit me? HIT ME?'**_ He was feeling like he was on fire and any moment his head was going to explode. He quickly gathered himself and shoved Dean hard on his chest all of a sudden.

"I gonna kill you…" Sam shouted when he shoved his brother.

Dean was stunned seeing his brother's sudden erratic behavior. Sam was fighting with him, cursing him and _most shockingly_telling him that he was going to kill his own brother. Sam was acting like he was insane; he was kicking, throwing punches…every possible thing to defeat his brother. This wasn't the Sam he knew, this wasn't his little brother who practically worshiped him.

Dean skillfully dodged each erratic punch of his brother and kicked behind his left knee. Sam grunted and his legs buckled. Dean caught his brother's arm tightly and practically sat on his flailing legs.

"Sam, Sam what's wrong with you? Sammy?" Dean screamed as he watched how Sam suddenly turned pale and his eyes moved frantically. Suddenly Dean gasped in utter horror, when he watched Sam's nose start to bleed without warning and his struggles become less frequent. Dean's heart dropped when he saw Sam's eyes roll back in his head and his limbs become completely lax in his confining grip and he screamed in terror…

"Saaaaammmy…"

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**TBC

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**Okay, this is a short story and only one chapter left (probably). Let me know what you think about it. Please review. Reviews make a story better and your kind words, suggestions mean a lot.**

**Thank You. Ritu.**


	2. Chapter 2

**BETA:-Vonnie, she is great.**

**A/N:- I am so so so sorry for the delay. I have been unbelievably busy lately. Thank you so much for your awesome reviews and support. I promise, I will update soon, real soon. Please, don't leave me.**

******_**Special thanks**_**to 'Gabi2305'- for her suggestions, 'Soncnica'- for her awesome encouragement and kicking my lazy "ahem" hard, 'GaelicAngel'- for her kind pm****and every single reviewer for leaving such wonderful reviews. You all are "WONDERFUL"******

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**PORTRAIT

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Dean was totally dumfounded seeing Sam pass out so sudden and without any warning, he released his hold on him like he was being electrocuted. Sam's lifeless body dropped to the floor with a small thud and his face lolled to the right side. Dean gasped in panic and sat perplexed not knowing what he should do now.

Suddenly the loud buzz of his cell phone filtered through the silent room and jolted him back to his senses. He swallowed nervously and got down to Sam, crawling to his side.

"Ss…Sammy, wwa…wake up?" His voice trembled. He cupped his brother's face with his palm and tapped slightly. Sam's head jostled slightly with each slap but he remained unresponsive. The one thing that unnerved him most was the blood flowing from Sam's nose.

The phone was still ringing and Dean knew without any doubt that it was their father. He shakily stood up and picked up the phone from the couch. He pressed the button and answered, though his gaze remained fixed on his little brother.

"Dad?" Dean swallowed.

'_Dean, son what happened? Did you find Sam?'_ John could swear that something was wrong, when he heard his older son's shaky voice.

"Yes Dad, I found him. Da…Dad, he…he…" He was stuttering. He crouched beside Sam and placed two fingers on Sam's carotid artery. He found Sam's heart was beating rapidly and his face was covered with a fine sheen of sweat.

'_What's wrong Dean? Is Sam okay?'_ John asked anxiously and pressed harder on the accelerator.

"Dad he came back a while ago and suddenly got mad. We had a little fight and then suddenly his nose started bleeding and…and he passed out. I…I can't wake him up Dad; some…something is wrong with Sammy." Dean informed, he sounded so nervous.

'_What? Oh my God, is…is he breathing okay?'_

"Shallow and fast and…and he is sweating heavily."

'_Okay okay, Dean you take care of him alright. I will be back in a while.'_ John hung up the phone right after finishing his last words.

Dean threw the phone, somehow managing to hit the couch and slid towards Sam. He tapped his cheeks again, encouraging him to wake up but there was no such luck. Sam was totally out cold, only God knew why. Dean inhaled a deep breath and grabbed his brother's shoulder. He gently hauled him up on his feet and dragged him to the farthest bed. After laying his unconscious brother carefully on it, Dean quickly grabbed a wet washcloth and wiped the blood and excessive sweat from his brother's face and body.

"What's wrong with you Sammy?"

Sam woke up with a disproportionate headache and moaned too softly to be heard. He felt something wet was lying on his forehead but still his head felt like it was burning inside. He could hear the muffled voice of his brother and father and he could swear without any doubt they were talking about him.

'_His blood pressure was up so high Dean. How could that be possible?'_ His father's anxious voice entered in his brain and he started feeling irritated.

'_**My blood pressure would be normal if you start treating me normal Dad!'**_ Sam thought with his eyes closed.

'_He was acting crazy dad, the way he was kicking and throwing curses at me…'_

Sam's nostril flared and his eyes were burning hot, when hearing his brother's words. He gritted his teeth silently. _**'Great. Now Dean has started b*tching about me. But what did I do?'**_

'_You think he was mad because we didn't give him money… … … … …_' suddenly Sam's head swirled and he practically could hear the words his family had never said.

'**That brat always wants money and everything. I don't know why he is being so selfish,'**John's anger filled voice boomed in Sam's ears and he flinched.

'_**You're right. And he never listens to us and every god damned time gets his a** kicked. I am tired of this stupid kid.'**_ Sam couldn't believe that Dean was saying those things about him.

'_**I am so gonna teach him a lesson when he wakes up.'**_ Sam whimpered as John said this out loud.

'_**And I will enjoy seeing the freak getting punished.'**_ He heard Dean laughed cruelly.

'_**Freak…a freak…'**_

'_**Whiny stupid brat…always needs money…'**_

'_**A freak…'**_

'_**Freak…freak…freak…'**_

Sam started thrashing on the bed, as this wrathful ranting entered into his mind and he screamed, covering his ears with both hands. Instantly he felt couple of strong hands grab him, but he flinched away. He opened his bleary eyes but couldn't see the worried face of his father and brother looming in front of him, but instead saw his family's hateful stares.

"Leave me alone." He shouted and scrambled off the bed. He fell on the floor, entangling his legs with the blanket and backed away.

Dean and John were clearly astounded, seeing the youngest boy reacting so fearfully, like he would burn, if they touched him. The way he was screaming and shaking, it was like he wasn't even aware of the situation or where he was.

"Sammy, calm down. Listen to me…" John tried to touch his youngest son and Sam uncoordinatedly batted his hand.

"No, back off." Sam got up from the floor holding on to the wall and practically ran into the bathroom, slamming the door hard, leaving his father and brother in utmost confusion.

* * *

Sam was grasping the sink for leverage, as he was almost bent over it. He was panting heavily; his head was throbbing like someone was skewing his brain with a knife. He couldn't understand what was happening to him. He actually couldn't remember what had happened last night when he got back home from that painter's house. All he could recall was the painter sketching his outline and suddenly he started feeling dizzy. He could feel the old man was sketching fast and with each stroke, he was feeling increasingly faint. He could recall that Mr. Williams was asking him about his family, what he thought about them. It was kind of personal and he wasn't supposed to answer him. But that old man was being so kind on him and after finishing the first sitting, he gave him twenty bucks right away.

He remembered the old man telling him something about his father that he did not love him that he cared less about him than he should. His brother loved him for sure, but he did nothing but follow his father's orders. If his father ordered him to stop caring he would. Sam tried not to listen to those false statements about his family, but it entered straight into his mind. He instantly felt a blinding pain starting to build inside his skull as his anger at his family gradually increased. His father's denial about every single thing, the fight between him and his big brother, everything started to flood inside him. He was feeling like passing out right then and there from the extreme rage burning inside him or even better beating someone to death.

He didn't even remember how he reached home. But it was clear that after returning he was involved in a fight with his brother again and then suddenly everything went black. He didn't have any idea what happened to him until he woke up and heard those natural or unnatural words flowing from his father's and brother's mouth. He knew for sure that something was very, very wrong with this picture, with him, but he couldn't arrange things in the right place. Every time he looked at his father's or Dean's face, his blood started to boil and the pain inside his head shattered his entire nerves.

He grabbed the sink more tightly and opened the faucet. He cupped some water and splashed it on his face several times. His legs felt wobbly and a sudden weakness swept over him. He took a deep breath and clumsily went to take a shower.

Dean and John were impatiently waiting outside of the bathroom for the last half hour, but Sam still hadn't come out. They were anxious, no, super anxious about their youngest. His sudden change of personality, this outburst left them totally dumbfounded.

After several more minutes passed, they heard the bathroom door opened and a very haggard looking Sam came out. His hair was wet, still dripping water and his face pale.

"Sammy?" Dean called him, but he was kind of astonished seeing Sam flinch at hearing his voice. Keeping his head bowed, Sam quickly collected some fresh jeans and shirt and disappeared again.

"What's wrong with that kid?" John mumbled and anxiously looked at his oldest.

Dean shrugged, dejectedly chewing his bottom lip. After a couple of minutes, Sam walked out from the bathroom and picked up his school bag. He hadn't even bothered with breakfast.

"Sam, where do you think you're going?" John asked. He tried to be soft. but anxiousness made his tone a little authoritative.

"School." Sam muttered, as if he didn't want to answer.

"No Sam, you don't have to go school today. You take some rest alright. You are not well." John congratulated himself silently for composing such a soothing tone for his youngest son.

Sam's fists clenched and unclenched as a wave of anger washed over him. _**'Oh, now your father is showing concern for you? He is treating like you are some kinda invalid?'**_ Sam gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as an unnatural voice spoke inside his head. He tried to ignore the voice, but couldn't, like he didn't have any command over his own body and mind. He spun around furiously and almost growled,

"Now you're telling me what is or isn't good for me, huh! Dad!" Sam's nostrils flared. "Well sir, you don't have to worry about me anymore or pretend like you care. I found out the truth already, know how much you actually do." His lips were twitching; eyes became narrow. "So suck it up."

John's mouth hung open, hearing his son's sudden outburst. He wasn't sure it really was his sweet mouthed baby boy talking. This wasn't his Sam; Sam could never talk to him like this, unless he was possessed or hexed.

"Sam…" John swallowed nervously. "…Sammy, what's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Sam bellowed like a fierce animal. "You're asking what's wrong with me? There's something wrong with you guys, you always treat me like I am a waste of space. You always tell me, no, order me, what I have to do or not, but never listen to me even once. I can't do anything without your f****** permission. So yeah, something's wrong with you." Sam swayed on his feet and grabbed his head like he was going to keel over. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply through the pain.

Seeing his brother in such pain, Dean cried "Sammy" and strode towards him, but halted when Sam put a hand upward to stop him and wheezed. "Don't. Don't you come…ah…ah…" Sam gasped.

Dean stopped reluctantly, seeing Sam almost hyperventilated all of a sudden. Now he was sure something was definitely wrong with his brother and this was not normal. Maybe Sam was possessed or something; he quietly muttered 'Christo', but fortunately or 'unfortunately' nothing happened.

Sam almost bent down and gasped loudly, hands resting on his knees. At that moment Dean's eyes caught something on Sam's neck. It looked like a red or pink mark but he didn't understand what that was. _**'Is that a blood mark'**_ Dean thought, but startled when his little brother clumsily stood up again and headed towards door.

Both older Winchester knew it would be fruitless to try and to prevent Sam from leaving. It was obvious Sam wasn't himself and they weren't sure, if it would be a good idea to let him go to school. They knew Sam might do something stupid in his intense, unnatural anger and bewilderment.

John winked at Dean, telling him to follow his brother. Dean nodded in apprehension and stealthily followed him. John sighed wearily and rubbed his hand on his bearded face. "What's wrong with you Sammy?" He mumbled and punched the speed dial on his cell phone.

"'_elo?"_

"Bobby, its John. I need your help."

"_John, what's wrong?"_

"Bobby, its Sammy."

* * *

Dean was standing outside of Sammy's new school, leaning against his beloved impala. It was almost past three and he was standing guard since Sam entered the school. Sam didn't notice him stalking after him or else another drama would have happened. Dean still couldn't believe just what had happened earlier. Why did Sammy behave like that, like he didn't recognize his surroundings; didn't know his brother or father. And Dean was one hundred percent sure that Sam wouldn't make such a drama for just a mere amount of money. It was something unnatural, Sammy might be under some hoodoo and Dean was sure as hell he was going to the end of the world to find what ever made his sweet little brother practically turn into a monster and finish it.

Dean seemed to be lost in his own thought so he didn't notice someone was moving quietly beside him. He startled heavily and spun so quickly. He got knocked into the man beside him.

"What the…" Dean muttered under his breath, as he saw an old man sprawled on the pavement. Some paper was scattered everywhere beside him and some was still clutched in his hand.

"Oh, I am sorry. Are you all right mister?" Dean apologized and helped the fallen man to stand up on his feet.

"Yeah, it's okay young man. I am alright." The old man assured Dean and muttered a 'Thank you' as Dean picked up those fallen papers and handed him over.

"You seem new here boy." The old man asked Dean and walked slowly towards the school boundary wall.

Dean frowned slightly and followed him. "Well yeah. My family and I came to live here just a few weeks ago. Looks like you know everyone in this town." He looked at the papers the old man was holding and saw those were the posters of someone.

The old man coughed a little and answered. "This is small town and I live here since I was born. So yeah, I almost know everyone who lives here." He picked one of those posters and put some glue behind it. His hands were trembling. "Boy, will you please help me to stick these posters on the wall?"

Dean chewed his lips and looked at the school building. Sam's classes still hadn't ended, so he still had some time. Besides, the old man was looking really exhausted and it wouldn't kill him, if he had helped a poor man.

"Sure, no problem." Dean took half of the posters and started gluing. He took a better look at the person on the poster. It was a young boy, almost around Sam's age, who looked really handsome by the way. The word '**Missing**' was printed beneath the photo. After sticking one of those posters Dean asked. "Who is this kid anyway?"

"My grandson," The old man bit his lip and looked away. Dean could swear he saw tears in his eyes. "…been missing for the last two weeks. He is the only one I have left after my son and his wife died in an accident." He chuckled sadly. "But you see, my fate doesn't seem to be cooperating with me so much lately. After loosing my son and daughter-in-law, I lost my Charles too." A rebel teardrop fell on his age ridden wrinkled face.

Dean's heart twisted seeing this old man's grief, though he wasn't the man of emotions. But he knew what it felt like when someone looses his beloved one. He knew he would be devastated, if he lost his little brother. He couldn't live without his baby brother. He swallowed hard when he remembered how his brother was throwing random curses at him and fighting with him. He shuddered at the memory of Sam passing out in his arm and the bleeding from his nose. He shook his head and asked, picking another poster. "I am sorry Mr…"

"…Russell." The old man filled Dean and smiled sadly.

"Dean Trescott." Dean nodded and stuck another poster on lamppost. "So, did you inform to police?"

"Yes, I did. But they still haven't found him. They think he has run away." Mr. Russell stared at his grandson's photo. "But you know what, Charlie wasn't the one who would run away for nothing. He was really a good boy. But the day before he went missing, he was acting kind of weird."

His last words hit Dean like a shell. '**This sounds familiar**' Dean thought and asked urgently.

"What? What did he do?"

The old man seemed to be kind of shocked, seeing Dean's sudden behavioral change. Sure that young man knew something. He blinked in confusion a couple of times and asked. "Why you want to know?"

Dean had become agitated. "Sir, please. You have to tell me. Maybe I can help you to find your grandson. Tell me what did he do?"

"Umm…he wanted to go to a picnic with his friends, but I didn't give him permission. He is only sixteen years old and wanted to hang out with some rich older boys from his school. He tried to make me say yes, but I didn't agree." He seemed to be thinking and Dean was tapping his foot in frustration. This all happened to them not too long ago, also.

Mr. Russell continued. "Well, after those boys went out, Charlie was angry at me for not letting him go. And then the day after that he came home exhausted and started screaming at me like a mad person. Later that night, he was running a high grade fever accompanied by some nose bleed…"

Dean gasped sharply as he heard what Mr. Russell was telling about his grandson. He was now dead sure this had to have some connection to these circumstances. He breathed rapidly as he remembered about Sam's earlier action and felt a pang of guilt inside his gut for hitting his brother when he had no control over himself. He asked fidgeting. "Mr. Russell, what happened with your grandson wasn't any usual matter, as well as his disappearance. Now can you tell me about the persons, who disappeared before your grandson?"

Mr. Russell was now looking a little nervous after Dean verbally jumped on him. "I…ah…how do you know about this?"

"I just know." Dean sounded real frustrated now. "Please Mr. Russell; tell me if you know something."

"Umm, I…I think Mr. Lawson's daughter went missing…" He was thinking fast. "…he also told me about something wicked like that, now I remember." His voice trembled with uncanny fear.

'**Oh my God**' Dean was pacing nervously. "I can't believe it, oh my God. Sammy…" he mumbled under his breath and looked at the school's main gate again. His body was screaming at him to run into the school hall and make sure that his baby brother was okay. But he needed one last answer. He quickly asked, "Sir, do you remember anything unusual happened with Charles after he got sick?"

"I don't…wait…"

"What?" Dean almost grabbed the old man's thin biceps in anxiousness.

"He…he was mumbling something about…I don't know if I heard right…he was mumbling something about a painter or something, might have been delirious."

Dean was clearly taken aback after hearing this. "Painter?" His brows knitted in confusion, "Where does that come from?"

"Yes, I was confused too. But I am sure he was talking about some painter, but I thought he was talking in delusion."

Dean was thinking fast, trying to bring things into perspective. He thought about the witch, they had been looking for so long, but couldn't find any clue about _her_. But a 'painter'…what the hell?

"I don't understand where does that …wait a minute…" Dean was talking to himself but suddenly something flashed in his mind. When Sam was panting at the motel room, he saw a red or pink patch on his neck. He thought it was blood… "Oh God, Sammy…" Dean cried and ran toward the school hall and burst into Sam's classroom.

"Sammy!"

But unfortunately, there was no sign of his little brother and Dean started to hyperventilate. _**'Where is my little brother, where is Sam?**_' He frantically searched the cafeteria and other rooms too, but didn't find his brother. He suddenly grabbed one of Sam's classmates, who was passing by him, by the shirt and almost cried.

"Where is Sam?"

The thin teenage boy, whom Dean had grabbed ferociously, almost buckled under his stare and stuttered.

"Ss—Sam, he is gone."

"What?" Dean screamed with extreme fear.

"He got involved in a fight with some bullies and then…please don't hurt me…" The boy was now shaking.

"What happened then?" Dean shook him hardly.

"Ehh…he beat them up really bad and then ran away. Please leave me alone."

Dean's eyes were widened in horror after hearing that and released the panic stricken boy, like his hands had been burned. How could this happen, he was watching after him the whole frigging time. How could he sneak out like that?

Dean staggered outside and pulled out his cell phone. As he was going to call his father, the phone rang.

"Dad!"

"_Dean, we got a problem. I called Bobby and he told me something…"_

Before John could finish his sentence, Dean interrupted. "Dad, its Sam."

"_What! What happened with him Dean?"_

"Dad…" Dean's voice trembled, "…Sammy is missing."

* * *

**TBC

* * *

**

**Ohhh….Gawd! I lost Sammy…nooooouuuuu…..what 'm gonna do now! Please tell me.**

**I tried to make it two shot, but I couldn't. Hope you're not disappointed. There is only one chapter left, 'I PROMISE'-let's see what happens with our "poster boy"…hehe…I mean Sammy.**

**So friends, what do you think about this chapter? Please leave a review and let me know. Your words, suggestions are just love and mean a lot. So, please, read and review and I will update faster.**

**Lots of love, Ritu.**


	3. Chapter 3

**BETA: - Wonderful Vonnie**

**A/N: - Thank you so much for reading and leaving those awesome reviews. Wow…I AM STUNNED!! Thanks friends, for giving me so much support---I Love You All.**

**I wish everyone… **~** MERRY CHRISTMAS ** ~** Have a Happy Holiday. **

**Now, where were we…**

* * *

**PORTRAIT**

* * *

Sam was sitting in the back row in his class, where he usually would never sit. But today he really wasn't feeling like he was up for school, but after the encounter with his father he had to come anyway. The thought of his father and brother made his head hurt as a wave of burning rage flooded through him. His nostrils flared in an unknown anger and he gritted his teeth. He looked mindlessly at the open book in front of him and breathed furiously.

"…_all particles are moving over the bed, although at different velocities according to size…" _Professor Jenkins was drawing something on the huge blackboard as he was lecturing the students. Most of the students were dozing or muttering in a low tone, but Sam was never like them. He was the one who always listened to every word with raw concentration. Except today, he wasn't in the mood for it; everything around him seemed to smother him.

"…_r__etardation of large clasts can cause the development of lodgement…"_ Sam grabbed a fistful of his hair as Mr. Jenkins words sounded more foreign than ever and extreme weariness swept over him. He didn't have any idea what was happening to him and why everybody around him looked malignant.

Sam startled heavily as someone nudged him lightly in his side and saw it was a friend of his poking him.

"Sam, hey. Mr. Jenkins is calling you."

'_**Oh great, now what?' **_Sam thought vehemently and stood up. He certainly felt that he wasn't going to like what Mr. Jenkins was about to say.

"Sam, are you feeling well?" The kind professor asked Sam gently.

'_**Gosh, am I looking that miserable?'**_ Sam closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed angrily.

"Yes Sir." Sam's reply was curt.

"You sure or is there something bothering you?" Mr. Jenkins quirked his eyebrows, as he was watching the young man with concerned eyes.

"No sir, I am fine." Sam averted his gaze. He did not like the way his professor was talking to him, like he was some kind of sick child and needed attention. He pressed his lips together into a thin line, as another wave of vexation started rising inside his veins. Part of him did not have a single clue what was going on with him and why he was feeling so angry at everyone who tried to talk with him or showed any concern or something.

"Well, you seem kinda' distracted," Mr. Jenkins muttered quietly and put his chalk and duster down on the table. He could feel that something was not right with this boy, Sam Trescott, who was one of his favorite students. He was the smartest student he had ever met and not to mention too shy. He started in this school only two weeks ago and with his smartness and attitude, he had already won most of the teachers hearts. But today, he seemed utterly distracted and sickly.

When Sam didn't answer Mr. Jenkins let the matter go and asked, "So Sam, have you arranged money for your trip?"

Sam's cheeks became red of shame and anger shot up through his already screwed brain. _**'No. Nada, I still haven't arranged the f****** money alright! I am sick of this crappy life.'**_ Sam was fuming as his eyes burned with unshed hot waters. But he stubbornly held it in and answered with clenched teeth.

"No."

Mr. Jenkins noticed him carefully. "What, you don't want to go?"

Sam remained silent. Hands were gripping the sides of the desk fiercely.

"Tomorrow is the last day of submission. If you don't submit the money by then, I am afraid that will affect your grade."

'_**Don't you think I know that already? I never get anything I want, and this is no exception.'**_ Sam was literally screaming in his head but didn't say anything. He knew if he tried to speak at all, something bad would come up and he would regret it later.

Mr. Jenkins was asking him something but he didn't seem to hear. He was lost in his own wrathful thoughts, but suddenly something caught his ears.

"So, that freak's not only a freak; he is a pauper too." Someone whispered with a chuckle.

Sam's head shot towards the source of the voice and his nostrils flared. That was Ross Matthew, one of the richest students in the class and not to mention the greatest jerk of the year. He was the number one bully in the school and had some goons who followed him like shadow and obeyed every word like they were the last words of the world. They never liked Sam, because Sam did never pay hood to them and certainly became a hero to all other girls and teachers with his smartness and attitude. So they could not digest it easily that someone new like Sam would get this much attention rather than him whose father had donated lots of money to the school's foundation.

"Don't you dare Matthew…" Sam fisted his hands and thumped lightly on the desk. He was breathing furiously, like a dragon.

"Or what?" Matthew spat venomously and shot up from his seat. "You daring me…" he stopped for a moment and smirked humorlessly. "…street-rat?" His voice was increasing.

It was all like a flash, no one ever would have imagined it. In a fraction of second, Matthew's collar was grabbed fiercely by Sam and his face was only a couple of inches away. He hissed like a rattled snake, "Matthewww…" and Matthew squirmed like a kitten and tried to pry Sam's iron gripped hands off his collar.

"Sam, back off." Mr. Jenkins practically ran and grabbed Sam with one hand and pried Matthew away from him. Matthew jerked Mr. Jenkins hand off him and snarled. "That son of a…"

"Enough Matthew," Mr. Jenkins scolded and released his hold from Sam. "You, get out from my class." He ordered Matthew.

Matthew was dumbfounded. "What the…this freak had started all of this."

"I saw who did," Mr. Jenkins eyes were somewhat cold. "…now go, before I send you to the principal."

Matthew stared at Sam for some second and then gestured as he was going to slit his throat. As Matthew stormed out of the hall, Sam suddenly felt lightheaded and swayed slightly.

"Sam, are you alright?" Mr. Jenkins maneuvered him gently to his chair and looked cautiously at his face. Sam's face was flushed red and his forehead was covered with a fine sheen of sweat as if he was running a temperature. He tried to touch him but Sam furiously backed away. "I'm…I'm fine."

Mr. Jenkins didn't push the matter and returned to his desk.

Sam didn't understand what was happening to him. He felt that an unnatural sensation was continuously nagging him, breaking his sanity, making him act like crazy. He knew that Matthew was fair game, but still; the way his anger level was rising, he could feel his entire energy was slowly seeping away from his body. He couldn't breathe without panting, his head was heavy like someone put thousand of bricks in it and his eyes were burning like acid and everyone around him looked like some kind of fiend.

-

Sam was walking by the cafeteria after finishing his second class of the day, when suddenly he was forcefully yanked by the collar and his face smashed into the lockers with a loud bang.

"So, what were you saying Trescott," Sam watched the Matthew boy advancing at him with his four goons. "…you seemed to have been threatening me…" He spat on Sam's face. "Didn't you?"

"Back. Off. Matthew." Sam warned.

"And if I don't," Matthew smirked evilly and stepped forward. He inclined his neck so he could make eye contact with the much taller boy than him. "Who's gonna rescue your sorry a** now," he chuckled, "guttersnipe."

Without thinking anymore Sam placed a punch directly into Matthew's face and instantly broke his nose.

"Ahoowww…." Matthew screamed and two of his goons jumped on Sam and pinned his hands to the wall.

"You bloody son of a…" Matthew wiped blood from his nose. "You filthy low life, how you dare to punch me…" he blew a hard punch into Sam's gut who doubled over in pain. "…you beggar, who doesn't have even fifty dollar in his pocket and still keeps his game face on, huh!" He clamped Sam's chin tightly with one hand and hissed. "…is your father a beggar too…"

Before he could finish his sentence, Sam suddenly kicked hard at his gut and elbowed one of his goons, who held his hands and cast off his right hand instantly. The other boy was so dumbfounded seeing Sam being active like this and punching the other like thunder, he didn't get enough time to defend himself, when Sam viciously punched his face too. The other students were cheering him, but Sam didn't care. He was bellowing with outraged anger, his head felt like it was going to explode anytime soon. He breathed furiously and stepped towards Matthew, who was panting, holding his gut while hunched over, like a lion advances on its prey and grabbed his throat. He pushed him until his back hit one of a locker and growled like an angry wolf.

"If you ever say something like this again, you won't have time to regret it. You get that?" Sam's blue green expressive eyes stared burningly at him and Matthew squirmed like a pup.

"Okay, okay. Please let me go." He begged as his voice trembled in intense fear.

All of a sudden a piercing pain shot up in Sam's head and he muffled a scream under his breath as he released his hold on Matthew. His chest hurt so much and it was harder to breathe. He could hear someone calling him. _**'That's it, that's it my boy. Let it out, let your all wrath out…come to me my boy…come to me…**_' his legs almost buckled, as he felt is entire strength slowly fading away and he grabbed his head.

He jerked awake when someone touched his elbow lightly and shied away. He saw that one of his friends knelt beside him, worry was clearly showing on his face.

"Sam, hey you okay!"

Sam didn't answer instead he grabbed his backpack and ran clumsily to the exit.

Sam breath became shallow in rage when he saw his brother was waiting outside the school hall and talking to someone. _**'So Dean has been following me the entire time so he can keep an eye on me? He really feels that I am some kinda' freak and can't take care of myself.**_ _**He thought I would never notice him!'**_ As soon these thought entered in his mind, he heard those unnatural words again. '_**Yes, Sam. They think you are a freak. They think you are useless and a pathetic brat. Come to me and I will make you feel better. I will give you whatever you want. Come to me son, come to me…come…come…**_'

Sam nodded in anticipation to the unknown supernatural voice and ran towards the backside of the school hall leaving Dean unaware that his little brother was already gone.

* * *

John was pacing nervously in the motel room after telling Bobby what was going on with his baby boy. He was sure Sam's unnatural and erratic behavior wasn't usual, and it may have some connection with the thing they were searching for. He also had noticed that those missing persons were all teenagers or in the early stage of adulthood. What was frustrating him, was that his delay in searching for the witch or whatever it was had allowed it to take control over his son. What kind of father was he? Not only did he make his son sad with not giving him such a small amount of money, he couldn't even protect him from getting hurt. He shuddered at the memory of his youngest son lying on the bed unconscious, face deathly pale, the only color decorating him that of dried blood tracks which had flowed from his nose and then later burning with extreme rage and throwing those foul words at his family. This wasn't his Sammy; his sweet baby would never have spilled those rants, not without getting hexed or spell bounded by some supernatural source.

"_John, you there?"_ Bobby's rough voice came from the other end of the line.

"Yeah Bobby, what have you got." John asked urgently.

"_Well, what you told me about Sam's condition, I think you're dealing with a __**'**__**Strigoilor'**__."_

"What? A Strigoilor? You mean Striga, like the one that had attacked Sammy twelve years back?"

"_Well, something like that or something not. A Striga like the one that attacked your son lives only on a child's life force. There are so many kinds of witches you know. Some of them drink the fresh blood of children, feed on corpses and eventually suck energy out of pure souls. That Strigoilor is one of the last kinds, which I think has attacked Sammy."_

John's knees were trembling with terror after hearing what had Bobby just told him. Oh no, no, no, not again. Last time that damn Striga almost sucked his baby's life out of him. And now, one had its sights fixed on him again.

"What do you mean by pure soul?"

"_Well, the myth says that Strigoilor can only feed from those humans beings, who still have their virginity intact. They have to be young and their soul has to be pure and generous. I think Sammy might be one of them."_

John's mouth hung open with shock. _**'What, pure soul, intact virginity'**_ what the hell was Bobby talking! Though John was worried so much for his youngest, he still felt a pang of pride hit inside his chest. Yeah, he knew it; Sammy was a pure gold-hearted boy, yet a virgin. He smirked unconsciously, when he thought that was why that damn Strigoilor didn't choose Dean, because Dean had lost his virginity at the age of fifteen.

"How you come to know this much Bobby? You are not even here?" John was clearly astonished knowing the depth of the knowledge of his older wise friend.

He heard Bobby chuckled. _"Well Winchester, it's being called research. Have you been doing that lately you idjit?"_

John remained silent. No, he didn't research at all. He left all research work on his youngest son's shoulder and tried to find that witch blindly. No, he didn't research, because he was so much preoccupied with making Sam miserable with his orders, work pressure, hunting, scolding etc, etc.

He startled, when Bobby spoke again. _"When you told me about Sam, I researched and found a death omen over where you are living now. Then I searched the victim reports and found all the missing persons were teenager or early adults. I called some of the locals, whom I know and when I find out that those missing teens were acting weird like you said Sammy did too; I came to my best guess that this is a Strigoilor which is kidnapping these teens."_

"Oh my God."

"_Hey don't worry. Sammy's still not missing right. So that means we got some time. Listen, that thing can't directly feed from it's victim. They need victim's permissions to feed from them. And they can't directly hurt them as Striga does. They can only feed of them by aggravating their six adversaries like anger, greed, infatuation, vanity, passion and envy. With each raging human adversary, they suck the life forces which are continuously draining through it. Sounds familiar John? "_

"Yeah alright. But what do we do now?"

"_First of all, don't let Sam out of your sight. Then find…_" But suddenly stopped by John's interrupting.

"Oh my God, I let Sammy go. I let him go to the school." John frantically rubbed his temple.

"_Damn it John, you shouldn't have done that after you saw your son passed out with a bleeding nose. Now get him back home before it's too late."_ Bobby sounded irritated.

"Alright alright, I sent Dean to keep an eye on him. I'm calling him. Hold on okay…" He put Bobby's call on hold and pressed Dean's number.

"Dean I got a problem. I called Bobby and he told me something…" John's heart leapt in his throat when he heard his oldest son's panic stricken voice,

"_Dad, Its Sam._"

"What! What happened with him Dean?"

"_Dad…_" Dean's voice trembled. _"…Sammy is missing."_

* * *

Sam was standing in front of the bungalow, and his eyes were fixed on the house. He didn't remember how he got there or what he was actually doing here. He just remembered, he felt that he needed to be here, someone was calling him in a very soothing tone, a low humming voice. He didn't realize when his backpack slid off his almost slacked shoulder and quietly looked at the main door when it opened.

"Come in Sam. I was waiting for you."

Sam knew that voice; it was Mr. Williams who was calling him. He remembered the polite old man who patched him up, fed him cookies, drew his portrait and gave him twenty dollars. Yes, he was the only person who cared about him, thought about his well beings…Sam sighed; if his father cared about him like that, he would have felt better. He startled, when Mr. Williams called him again and slowly entered in the house.

He didn't even react when Mr. Williams grabbed his hand, something he usually didn't let anyone do and followed him like a remote controlled robot. Sam's eyes were now completely catatonic, face cold like stone. He wasn't in himself anymore, his power was gone; his spirit left his body…he didn't even know, who he was, as he gave his entity to that powerful thing, who had him totally under his control.

They entered in a new room that Sam had never seen before. It was a semi-dark room; some florescent dim light and candle were the only source of light. Sunlight was totally blocked by heavy curtains. There was a portrait of Sam situated on the stand in the middle of the room and two other portraits were leaning on the opposite wall.

There was something else in the room though Sam was too oblivious to notice. There were one young boy and one young girl who were being held by a rope up on the ceiling. Their heads were stooped to their chest and their flesh was deathly pale. They looked so much like dead; the only sign making them look somewhat alive were their chests moving up and down, yet barely. Those other two portraits were of those kids, which were almost, yet not totally completed.

The most gorgeous thing in the room was Sam's portrait, which was also incomplete but nonetheless was looking beautiful. In that picture, Sam was sitting on a couch, one hand on his lap other on the hand-rest. One leg crossed the other way stylishly and face was tilted slightly upward showing his skyrocketing personality very neatly. He was looking like some arrogant prince instead of his usual calm and sweet teenage self. Though he was wearing the same worn out jeans and shirt with a worn out jacket, his entire limbs were drawn perfectly and the shades of colors were just unbelievable. His golden skin was virtually blazing and the most amazing, yet also shocking things were his eyes, because they weren't yet colored. They were just outlines of his eyes and also his lips, hair and some limb not yet finished coloring.

Mr. Williams stared at his own artwork for sometime then turned to his live model who was still standing beside him like a clay model. He maneuvered the catatonic young man gently to the couch and caressed his face lightly. "What a gorgeous boy you are, and so pure inside." He inhaled his essence heavily and shuddered with an unnatural satisfaction. "I've never met someone like you before Sam. You're so ennoble and have so much true power inside your heart. You are going to be my best work and you know what…" he hissed in a low tone. "…whenever I suck your life force through my painting, I feel so strong myself. What you're holding inside you, is so much more powerful than you even know."

Sam's head lolled limply in his confined grief but no sign of recognition showed in his eyes. They were dull and lifeless, the painter had drawn almost his entire feature and nearly sixty percent of his life force had been sucked out. He had no sense about what was going on around him as he stepped inside the trap of the witch 'Strigoilor' and he did it willingly.

That was what the clever witch had been doing; he attracted young people by showing helplessness and generosity and then made them rely on him. He put his own thoughts inside their head and aggravated their rage, anger, hatred towards their own family, beloved ones. Once people fell under his spell, he needed their final permission to come to him blindly, leaving their family behind. He made them feel that their family didn't love or care for them anymore so he coaxed them to come to him and stay forever until he sucked them dry. But he couldn't suck him physically; he had to do it through a secondary source. He couldn't touch any human kind in real, he had to capture their entity into some substance like mirror, sculpture, or paint and that was the most difficult part of his evil entity. Unlike his other evil relatives, he couldn't suck blood or corpses; he needed a pure soul, who had never been touched by any sin. Purity gave him strength, fuel for his livelihood. Once his brush stroked on the portrait, the models life force slowly seeped away from their body and entered into his mouth.

That old man or Strigoilor again inhaled Sam's essence as his face morphed into its real feature for a mere time. It smirked devilishly and again turned into the human form. He went to the table and picked up a paint brush and a color matted pallet. He poured some raw oil color into different bowls and mixed it with a brush. He looked at Sam again and then stroked swiftly on the picture.

As soon that brush touched Sam's picture, his whole body shuddered like he was being electrocuted and he gasped painfully. His eyes were rolling white and his mouth gaped open as his life force began to seep out from his body in white and made its way to the witch's opened mouth. The witch was still sucking Sam's life force, when suddenly the door of the room burst open and someone sprinted in---

"**NOOOOOO, SAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMY**…"

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**TBC**

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**Ouch…ouch…please, don't hurt me. I know, you guys want to kill me now—for leaving such 'wonderful' (:P) cliffie. But, it's Christmas guys!! Okay, I promise (I know I suck), I will post the next and ****FINAL**** chapter soon. **

**So Friends, what do you think about this chapter, huh!! Well at least I let you guys know what actually was happening. But, all I can say that………… that 'Strigoilor' is a nasty witch than 'Striga' and can not be killed by a simple bullet or salt gun or holy water. Soooooo……be ready for some ACTION.**

**Finally, if you like this chapter please '****REVIEW****'. I always say that your words, suggestions mean a lot and I appreciate them and you know that too. ****So, please, read and review and I will update faster.**

**Thank You, **

**Ritu.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Beta:- My lovely friend and sis…Vonnie**

**A/N:- Saying thank you for the reviews and support doesn't really seem sufficient, but a big THANK YOU!**

**Each and every review means so much, just knowing that people are reading and commenting is fantastic.**

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**PORTRAIT**

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Dean was shaking in fear when he found out that Sam was missing. _**'No, no, no, no, no, that can't be happening. I was keeping an eye on him. How could he sneak out like that? Some big brother I am, who can't even keep his only little brother safe.'**_ Dean was thinking wryly while talking with his father. He heard his father gasp when he delivered the news that his youngest son was nowhere to be found.

'_Dean? I sent you there to keep an eye on your brother. How could you lose Sammy like that?'_ John sounded really angry and frustrated.

"I know, I know Dad." Dean threw a fist in the air with overriding anxiety and frustration. "Sammy must have seen me stalking him and he left." He went to the backside of the school ground and looked at the ten feet high wall. _**'Not a problem to climb when it comes to a Winchester'**_ he thought and answered. "I am gonna find him Dad. I got some clues about what is going on around here. I am going to get my little brother back."

'_Dean, okay listen. Bobby told me something about the thing we're dealing with right now. And I need you to hear me very carefully. After we find that thing we need to… …'_

Dean ran outside of the school where his car was parking and nodded in anticipation about what information John was giving him. He saw that Mr. Russell was still there, anxiety was also written in his face.

"Did Bobby tell anything about where we can find that witch?" Dean was pacing in front of impala impatiently.

'_No, he couldn't tell exactly where we can find him. But he said that the witch is in this town for sure and that means he's still keeping those missing kids with him.'_

"But how we gonna find him Dad? We'll have to search the whole town and we don't have time. And how we gonna detect him, he must be camouflaged."

'_Dean, we don't have any choice…'_

"But Dad, it will take lots of time. What if he hurts Sammy more or worse if he kills…" Dean's voice trembled with the fear of losing his beloved brother and his eyes welled up.

'_Dean…'_

"Sh*t Dad." suddenly something spiked into Dean's head. "Wait a minute…there was a paint mark on Sammy's neck and you were telling me that your grandson was talking about some painter right?"

'_What? What are talking about son?'_ John was dumbfounded hearing his oldest son blabbered something insane. _'My grandson?'_

"No, no, no, I'm not talking with you Dad." Dean held the call and looked at Mr. Russell who was also dumbfounded seeing the young boy distressed like that. He could sense something very wrong was going on with the young man too and it was now clear to him that some teenage boy, who was supposedly this boy's little brother was missing like his grandson.

He startled when Dean asked him so suddenly about his grandson and some painter and couldn't find the words to reply. He didn't understand what was going on and why the boy was being so concerned about some painter instead of finding their lost children.

"I…I think so. But what…" His voice cut off when Dean interrupted again.

Dean didn't give him an answer instead he kept talking mostly with himself. "That means that thing or painter whatever it is, must need some equipment like colors, brushes etc." He was muttering, his phone still pressed against his ear but totally oblivious of his surrounding. His only concern though was his lost brother. "So he needs to buy them or collect them from somewhere." He suddenly spun towards Mr. Russell and asked. "Mr. Russell, do you know about any paint shop around here?"

"Umm, yeah. There is a paint shop and it is the only paint shop around here. It's a very small town."

"Where is it?"

'_Dean, what's going on?'_

"Dad, hang on a second." Dean ignored his father and asked the old man again. "Where is it?" His voice was unnecessarily high pitched with raw anxiousness.

"Ah well, couple of blocks away." The old man answered.

"Show me." Dean quickly wrenched open driver side door of his car and slid inside. He gestured the old man to get inside and continued on phone. "Dad, I'm gonna find Sammy. Be prepared, I will call you back." Before John could ask anything else, Dean cut his call off and started the engine.

"Show me."

"Straight that way." The old man pointed his finger to the right direction and Dean revved his car hard.

'**Hang on Sammy, I am coming. Big brother is coming.'**

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The sleek black car came to a halt with a loud screech in front of the local paint shop. Dean Winchester got out of the car and sprinted into the shop, trailed by Mr. Russell. It was a small shop but there were various kinds of paint accessories. A young man in his early thirties was sitting beside the desk, startled when seeing that abrupt entrance of a distressed handsome young man.

"Yes, may I help you young man?"

"Did someone buy something from your shop recently?" The question from Dean came out of blue and that left the shop owner flabbergasted.

"Umm—what!"

Dean was clearly frustrated now. "I asked, did anyone buy paint color or something from your shop lately?"

"Why would I tell you?" Now the shopkeeper sounded annoyed and he craned his head to the old man who was standing behind Dean. "Mr. Russell, what's going on?"

Before the old man could answer the guy, Dean pulled one of his fake badges and flashed it in front of the man's nose. "I am detective Dean Trescott and I'm investigating the case of missing teens in this town." He quickly put the badge inside his pocket and asked in a cold but authoritative voice. "Now, would you answer my question, Sir?"

Dean could sense that Mr. Russell's face fell in awe but he remained stoic.

The shopkeeper was now looking kind of nervous. He swallowed couple of times before answering. "Well, since no one has too much interest in painting, only two or three customers came during this week and bought something."

"Two or three?"

"Umm, three I think." The shopkeeper seemed to be thinking. "Well, one of them bought canvas and color bottles and others bought some loose things."

"Are they locals?"

"Um, yeah. They are all local people." He made a confused face. "But why are you asking me that officer? How come my customers are related to these kidnappings?"

"Well mister, you won't understand." Dean said blatantly. "Now, can you tell me who those people were?"

"Oh sure officer."

"So you know these guys?" Dean asked Mr. Russell after gathering the information he needed.

Mr. Russell nodded. "Yes, I know them. But…" He squinted his eyebrows in confusion.

"What?"

"The second guy he referred, umm…that Mr. Williams, I don't know much about him."

They were walking towards the car, but Dean halted abruptly.

"You don't know the guy?"

"Yes, I know him. He came to live here almost two months ago. I met him one or two time but he didn't seem too fond of neighbors. I tried to talk with him but he deliberately ignored me; well not just me, he practically doesn't talk with anyone."

"And he is a painter and that particular person bought those canvases, paints and other accessories." Dean was mumbling much like talking to himself. "Other two were a kid and a lady and they didn't buy as many things like he did and almost two months ago, these disappearances started happening..." Without any warning Dean again ran into the shop and jumped straight into the question. "Did that Mr. Williams buy some pink or red color recently?"

The shopkeeper jumped again but somehow managed himself to remain passive. He thought for a moment. "I don't remember…" he scratched his head. "…he probably did but exactly what color I can't remember."

"Thank you." As he had entered like a storm, he exited in much the same way, leaving the shopkeeper completely in the dark. He was now absolutely sure that this Mr. Williams had something to do with these kidnappings and this man could be the witch they were searching for.

He quickly got into the car and told no almost ordered the old man who was riding shotgun. "Show me the way." After revving the engine, he quickly pulled his cell phone and punched his Dad's speed dial-

"Dad, we found a clue. Come quickly."

* * *

Dean pulled the car up in front of the big bungalow and bolted out of the car. It was a calm and quite environment that made him hesitate to enter the house. But suddenly, something caught his eyes and he ran to it to pick it up.**'Oh my god'** it was Sam's school bag which was lying carelessly in the lawn.

"Sammy," he whispered and almost immediately straightened himself. He had work to do, the most important work in his life 'saving Sammy'. Sam's life was now dependant on him and he couldn't afford to lose himself. Every second was important, every second he delayed, Sam's life would be slipping away from him.

He quickly got up and jogged towards the impala. He swiftly opened the trunk and took a shot gun and a knife and tucked them in his waistband. He grabbed his favorite 'Desert Eagle' gun and closed the lid with a loud thud.

Mr. Russell was watching him in big surprised. He couldn't believe what he was actually seeing. This young man had a whole arsenal in his car's trunk; he hadn't seen one this large in his whole sixty five years of life.

"So, you're a detective?" Mr. Russell inquisitively asked.

Dean clenched his jaws and his nostrils flared,

"Yes."

"You seem quite young for that job."

Dean bit his inner cheek and desperately swallowed a cuss. He turned to the old man and smiled humorlessly, "I am just lucky." He gave him a knife and told, "Mr. Russell, you stay here and keep this knife with you. My Dad will be here anytime. Don't try to enter the house…"

"You think my grandson is there inside the house?" The old man's eyes beamed with hope.

"Hopefully. As well as my little brother too. I will get them out of here. Just be careful."

Getting a confused nod from the old man, Dean nodded back at him and moved towards the main entrance, but stopped when hearing Mr. Russell call,

"Dean!"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."

Dean pressed his lips together hardly and turned. "I will." He smiled tightly, '_**For Sammy, I have to**_' and headed towards the door.

* * *

Dean quietly picked the lock of the door and stealthily entered the house. As he expected, no one was there; just an uncanny and eerie silence greeted him. He grabbed his gun tightly and tiptoed inside the large drawing room. But unfortunately, there was nothing special except some gorgeous portraits hanging on the wall.

Dean frowned and stepped close to a painting, it was a boy's portrait who seemed around his brother's age. He seemed too familiar, but Dean couldn't recall where he had seen him. He lightly touched the pictured and realized that the painting had been drawn long ago and all the color dried up. But still, it was looking beautiful like other paintings of that room. "Where did I see you, where…" Dean was mumbling, suddenly he recalled he saw that face on TV couple of days ago. He remembered the news reporting that after missing for the last one month, the dead body of exactly this boy had been found besides a deserted road; looking like all blood and meat had been sucked out and only the bony frame had been left to be discovered. But there had been no wound mark or anything on that poor boy's body, he had looked like he died of some kind of blood loss, starvation and dehydration. His breathing sped up as the thought kicked in inside his brain again that his brother, _his Sammy_ was in this witch's clutch. His skin crept cold when he remembered what his father had told him about that Strigoilor thing and what it did to his prey. He had to find his little brother soon before something bad would happen to him.

Dean started frantically searching but there was no sign of his brother in any corner of the large house. He even circled around the bathroom, but there was nothing except emptiness. He wanted to shout, but he didn't want to alert the witch. He knew his brother was here somewhere and he was determined to find him at any cost.

Ten minutes passed and he still didn't have any clue about where his brother was. He was shaking as he entered the drawing room again. "Where are you Sammy, Where are you?" Dean cried in frustration. "Please God, help me to find my brother. Please…" He wasn't a praying person and didn't really believe in the big almighty upstairs; but when his brother's life was at stake, he could do anything…anything for his Sam.

Dean wasn't sure it was his imagination or if he was really hearing something, but he thought he heard a whimper. He straightened his ears and tried to locate where the sound was coming from. Again, he heard someone's low toned muffled voice. Any ordinary person would have missed such low volume, but his hunter's sense didn't miss a bit of it.

He quickly followed the sound and found out that was coming from behind the wall. He frantically scanned the whole wall, but there was no door. But what caught his eyes was a large painting hanging on the wall and its bottom almost touched the floor. Dean frowned and tucked his gun into his waistband and glided his hand along the painting. He was familiar with this kind of situation, he knew that this kind of painting could hide a secret door and he was sure that something was behind this thing.

He pulled the painting off the wall and pushed it, and knowingly discovered a secret door behind it. He kicked it hard and the door burst open and his eyes widened. His breathing got rapid when he saw his brother was sitting on a couch, head bent slightly backward; eyes almost closed, mouth hanging open and something like white mist emanating from it. His eyes roamed to the figure that was painting Sam's portrait and realized with extreme horror that with each stoke, Sam's life force was fading slowly from his body and entering directly into the open mouth of the creature.

Dean screamed his lungs out "**NOOOOOO, SAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMY**…" and pointed his eagle gun at the painter's head. The creature startled and looked at him, without wasting a single second, he pulled the trigger.

The sound of the heavy bullet echoed in the confined room and as Dean shot the painter in the middle of his forehead. The strigoilor's head jerked back and he wobbled towards the rear. A heavy bruising gun wound formed on his forehead.

A loud screeching sound came from the painter's mouth as soon the bullet hit him. The paint brush he was holding dropped from his hand and his whole figure morphed into his original shell. Dean watched in horror that it was a tall black-grey body with a long scary face. It had long sharp shark like teeth and its face was all black and bony.

"Dude, you're fugly…" Dean gritted his teeth and again fired his gun twice. Both time bullets hit that creature and again with a loud ear deafening scream, as it toppled backward.

"The game's over, you filthy creature." Dean disgustingly spat at the thing and ran towards the couch where his brother was partially lying. Sam's left hand was hanging limply off the armrest and his head was resting on it.

"Sammy, Sammy wake up…" Dean crouched in front of his brother and grabbed his shoulder. He sucked in a breath when he took a better look of his brother. Sam's face was pasty white; his skin unnaturally cold like the kid was hypothermic. He was taking small rugged breaths and minute tremors were coursing through his cold thin body.

"Sam, Sammy please open your eyes. Look your…" Dean's voice cut off when he heard a frantic shout coming from his father's mouth…

"Dean look out…"

Before Dean could understand what was going on or why his father was yelling, he felt a large hand grab his jacket's collar hard and yank him up off his feet. Within a fraction of a second, he was thrown across the room and hit the opposite wall hard. He fell down in a heap and remained still where the strigoilor threw him.

Dean must have blacked out for a couple of seconds, but jolted back to awareness, when he heard a gunshot boom through the room again. He lifted his head and saw his father shoot the thing with rock salt, but that it did practically no harm to the powerful creature.

"You humans think that your weapon can kill something like me? I can not be killed. I am immortal." The creature growled.

"No, you are not." John screamed and suddenly pulled a silver knife from his waistband. "I know how you're going to die. I will kill you for touching my son."

Dean saw with confusion that his father trudged towards Sam's portrait and pulled his knife higher as if he wanted to plunge the sharp object on Sam's body. "I will destroy your portraits, then you will die you son of a b*tch."

Before John could plunge the knife on Sam's portrait, the strigoilor screamed in a horrific pitch and lunged forward. He slapped John hard in the face and his face whapped back. John lost his balance and stumbled on the partially drawn portrait of his youngest son. He toppled hard to the floor entangled with the canvas and unfortunately his knife slipped from his hand and plunged into the portrait near Sam's thigh.

Dean watched in horror, as the sharp object hit his brother's picture, Sam's unconscious body jerked hardly and a pain stricken gasp escaped from his partly parted but slacked lips. Dean's eyes moved to Sam's thigh where a large patch of red suddenly showed on his blue jeans and thick blood started to trail downward.

"Sammy, Dad… Sammy…" Dean shouted in utter horror as the brutal scenario was playing out in front of him. Before his Dad could do something, the nasty creature grabbed him too and threw back to the opposite side.

John grunted in pain when his body hit the floor ungracefully. But his pain was forgotten when he saw his already injured or ill youngest son had been hurt again viciously and this time by his own father and he felt his heart stopping to beat.

He turned his head towards the creature when it started laughing all of a sudden. He tried to lift himself up off the floor, but suddenly realized he could not move his body. He looked at Dean with worried eyes; saw his oldest was struggling too. But they seemed to be pinned on the ground by some supernatural power. He saw that the creature once again morphed into its human form and picked up the canvas from the floor. He smirked mischievously at the senior Winchesters as he spoke,

"You thought you could defeat me you worthless human?" He gritted his teeth. "No you can't. I am immortal, you know why?" He bent again and picked up the fallen paint brush. "The pure and sanctified life forces I sucked from those virgins, made me immortal. If you try to destroy my creation or try to kill me, they will die. Their souls are locked inside it."

Dean felt like crying when he heard those unbelievable words coming from that thing's mouth. He knew that the creature was not lying. They saw what happened when the knife plunged into Sam's picture. If they tried to destroy it, Sammy would die. His blood started to boil as he watched that the nasty thing kneeled down in front of his unconscious brother and touched his face with such gentleness, he screamed. "Don't! Don't you dare touch him you filthy monster. **Don't touch him**."

The human form of the strigoilor smirked devilishly and looked at Dean. "Don't worry, I won't hurt him." He touched Sam's hair and Dean's breathing became furious. "Well, at least not physically."

He got up from his place and went to the canvas. "You know what…" he started as he stirred the paint brush into the viscous color. "I would have let him live a few days more, if you fools hadn't interrupted. He has such a pure and rare soul, that's hard to find." He swiftly stroked on the canvas and Sam gasped loudly as if this was his last breath. White mist once again started to come out from Sam's open mouth and slowly crept towards the evil entity.

"Noo, no Sammy no…" Dean screamed as fresh tears started to fall from his eyes. "…what am I gonna do Dad. Sammy, no…"

Dean tried to get up again but miserably failed. His eyes were excessively blurry with tears; he didn't hear his father was shouting something.

"Dean, you have to drench the silver knife with Sammy's blood and then plunge it into his vital limb. Then it will die." John screamed again, trying to wake his oldest from his own nightmare. He had to do it, he had to save his baby boy.

This time, Dean heard.

"Sammy's blood?"

"Yes." John was trying to fight against the evil force field. "Only virgin blood can kill that thing. But before we kill that thing, we gotta free Sam's soul that's locked inside the portrait."

"But how Dad? We can't even move. How we gonna save Sammy?" Dean cried in frustration. He looked again at the horrific scene that was playing out in front of his eyes. He could see Sam's entire life force was slowly fading off from him and his breathing became less frequent.

Before John could give him an answer, both Winchesters' eyes became huge in utmost surprise. They couldn't believe what was happening in front of their very eyes.

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**TBC**

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**Hiding under a rock ...don't shoot me! Really, I thought this was a great place to end this chapter.**

**Reviews are love. I will post the next chapter Tomorrow.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Beta:- Vonnie**

**A/N:- So, as I promised, here is an early update. **

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**PORTRAIT**

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**~** EPILOGUE **~ **

The Strigoilor aka Mr. Williams was painting Sam's portrait with an unnatural speed. He had almost completed his desired pure hearted boy's picture, only was left to paint his eyes. _God_, his eyes were beautiful, they were looking extremely gorgeous even in just a sketch. Already ninety percent life force had been sucked out from Sam's body and he was almost dead by then. He wasn't gasping, wasn't shaking…hell, they were not sure if he was still breathing. They could not detect any rise and fall of Sam's chest; he was lying there like a corpse.

"Yes, I've almost completed it. I just have to paint his eyes and then…" before he could finish his joyous statement, he felt a sudden piercing pain in his back and gasped. He slowly turned and saw another old man was standing behind him and stabbed him with a silver knife into his back. He screamed and slapped the old man hard in his face. Mr. Russell's body was flung into the air and collided with the wall.

Before the human shaped Strigoilor pried the knife away from his back, he heard a '**oops**' and felt a load of hard rock salt hit his chest. The heavy hit of rock salt bullet hit his human body hard and threw him at least ten feet away. Dean quickly threw the empty gun and jumped at the table where the painting equipments had been placed. With a light speed motion, he grabbed a huge can of black paint color and threw it directly on Sam's portrait.

" **NOOOOOOOOOOO....**"

The Strigoilor screamed so horrifically that would send a shiver down the Devil's own spine as soon as the thick pitch black color hit Sam's portrait and spread all over the canvas. That gorgeous painting was now a mass of black canvas and Sam's entire body was slowly hiding under the thick paint.

The Strigoilor morphed into its original shell and screamed once again, but now in pain when the white mist of life force started seeping from his body. Dean watched in bewilderment as the escaping life force started to enter again into his brother's partially open mouth.

"Dad, hurry…" Dean shouted and once again pulled another can and threw the whole color onto the portrait of the other kid. He saw that John did the same with the girl's portrait and smudged the entire art work.

They watched in horror and utter astonishment that the creature started to writhe frantically as all life forces of young teenagers he had sucked, viciously came out from his body and entered into their respective one.

Dean quickly pulled his silver knife from his waistband and ran to the couch where Sam was lying. The thick crimson blood still was flowing heavily from his thigh wound and collected in a puddle on the floor. He drenched his knife in his brother's blood and savagely plunged it into the creature's heart.

"**AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH**…"

A pain filled shriek came out from its mouth when Dean pushed the knife harder inside and twisted it, as if he wanted to rip his heart out of its filthy body. He panted in exhaustion and watched the Strigoilor's dead body hit the floor with a loud thud and then still.

"This is for hurting my brother…" Dean hissed furiously and pulled his knife up from its body. "You son of a b*tch."

* * *

Dean didn't bother to look that what his father was doing with the dead body of the Strigoilor, as his concentration was solely on his brother, who still hadn't moved an inch from his position. His knife slipped from his hand as he ran to his brother and pulled his body into his arms.

"Sam! Sam wake up, Sammy! The devil is dead, he is dead." Dean was rambling cradling his limp brother in his embrace "No one's gonna hurt you again little brother. Open your eyes Sammy!" Dean shook him gently, "Sammy?"

But Sam remained unresponsive. He was lying still on his brother's chest all pale and faint. His face was still dangerously pale, but not quite as before. He was breathing, but it was way too shallow and small tremors once again ran through his entire body.

Dean quickly laid his brother down on the couch once again and shrugged his jacket off. He wrapped his brother's cold and trembling torso with it and bound his thigh wound tightly with a bandana to stop the bleeding. He then looked at the other corner of the house and saw his father and Mr. Russell untie the other kids and gently lay them onto the floor.

"Are they alright?" Dean asked in a trembling voice.

John nodded. "Yes, they are alive but we have to take them to the hospital quickly." He rose from his seated position and ran towards his boys. "How's Sammy doing?"

"Not good." Dean sadly answered. He gently carded his hand in Sam's silky mop and sniffled. "I think he's going into shock Dad!" He wrapped his arms tightly around his trembling brother and looked worriedly at his father.

John placed his hand lightly on Sam's chest and then looked at Dean. "Dean, take him to your car. After I put those kids in my truck, we will be heading to the hospital. After we got them checked, I will salt and burn that bastard's body."

Dean nodded nervously; his eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

"Dean!" his father's authoritative tone entered into his ears and he looked at him. "Get a grip boy. You can't lose yourself now. Your brother needs you now. Sammy needs you."

Dean nodded his head tightly and muttered. "Sammy needs me. Yeah, I failed him once, I can't fail him again." He gently placed one hand around Sam's back and hooked another under his knees. Then carefully lifted his insensate brother off the couch and headed towards the exit.

After opening impala's passenger side door, Dean assiduously maneuvered his lanky brother inside the car and laid him on the leather upholstery.

He quietly closed the door and then got inside behind the wheel. His heart twisted whenever he heard Sam was struggling to breathe. He gently pulled his brother up and placed his head on his lap. He placed a comforting hand on Sam's forehead and whispered. "Hang on little brother. Don't give up. Everything's gonna be alright. I am here and I will take care of you, Sammy. I will make everything okay brother."

* * *

Dean sat beside Sam's hospital bed and watched him like a mother hawk. It'd been six hours Sam had been admitted and he still hadn't regained consciousness. Though the doctor assured him that Sam would wake up anytime soon. After they brought Sam and the other kids in, the emergency staffs and doctors immediately started assessing them. After stabilizing them and put them in their rooms, the doctor explained their condition and let them see their kids.

Dean's eyes wandered to the IV lines that had been inserted into Sam's veins. One of them was giving him warm saline to keep this core temperature normal as he was suffering from mild hypothermia and dehydration. Another was providing him with antibiotics to prevent infections caused by his thigh wound. A nasal canula was running under his nose, giving him purified warm oxygen.

Sam was looking incredibly younger than his original age in his vulnerable state and that made Dean's heart ach. He gently took Sam's hands into his and whispered. "C'mon little brother, wake up, would ya! You've been sleeping from ages and getting older, I'm here waiting for you sleeping beauty!" He chuckled softly. "It wouldn't be that hilarious if an old a** prince charming has to kiss you to wake you up, what do you think Sammy?" His voice got heavy with emotion. "Sammy!"

He startled lightly, hearing someone shuffle into the room and saw that his father and Mr. Russell entered. He quickly swallowed the expression he had been showing an oblivious Sam and coughed a little. "So, everything covered?"

John smiled tightly and nodded as he walked beside his son's bed. He carded a loving hand on Sam's forehead and looked at Dean. "Yes, we burned that bastard's body and destroyed his entire belongings."

"What about cops?" Dean asked anxiously. He had been worried because they told the hospital that those kids had been kidnapped and held hostage.

John smiled and glanced at Mr. Russell who was standing beside him. "Thanks to Mr. Russell, he got all things covered."

Dean looked at him with grateful eyes and said. "Thank you Mr. Russell. We wouldn't have saved those kids and my brother, if you weren't there. If you hadn't stabbed that thing in time, they all would be dead by now."

Mr. Russell smiled apprehensively. "No need to thank me, Dean. I did what I needed to do. Besides, I should thank you; because of you, I got my grandson back." His eyes were gleaming with happiness.

Dean smiled and turned his attention back to his brother.

"So, you aren't a detective? Are you?" Mr. Russell asked.

Dean stiffened a little but quickly recovered himself. "No," he looked straight at the old man's eyes. "I am not a detective. We're hunters. We hunt evil things as you have witnessed. We try to keep people safe from those things that they have never been seen in their worst nightmare." He smartly explained.

The old man remained mute for a minute then nodded. "I understand and don't worry boy; your secret will be saved inside my heart. After all, you guys saved all those young kids and other who could have been trapped in that thing's clutch in the future. You all are the true heroes and I salute you."

"Thank you." Dean and John said in chorus.

Mr. Russell smiled tightly and patted Dean's shoulder proudly. He placed a loving hand on the brown mop of the sleeping youngest Winchester and then left the room.

* * *

"Dean! Dean, wake up…"

Dean was dreaming about some cool chick, but the constant annoying sound of his bratty little brother was distracting him. He grimaced and threw a hand in the air in protest.

"Shuddap Sammy, lemme s'lp," Dean's sleep filled voice slurred.

"Dude, you're snoring. And that's hurting my head a little." Came Sam's b*tchy comment again.

"I don't snore…" Suddenly Dean realized where he was and he shot up in his seat. He couldn't believe he fell asleep while he was watching over his sick little brother.

He rubbed the remaining sleeps off his eyes and saw his brother looking at him incredulously, a wicked smile ghosting on his lips.

"You alright Sammy? How are you feeling?" Dean got up and touched Sam's forehead gently. "Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor? I am calling…"

"Dean?" Sam's voice cut off Dean's blabbering.

"What Sammy?"

"Breathe."

Dean smirked seeing Sam was back in his usual 'Bratty Sam Winchester' mood and his old sense of humor was kicking in full force. He released a breath of relief and collapsed again onto the chair.

"Seriously, Sam. Are you feeling alright!" Dean asked with genuine concern.

Sam slowly heaved himself into a sitting position with Dean helping him anyway and answered. "I am fine."

When Dean looked at him quirking an eyebrow, he rolled his eyes. "Okay, just a little lightheaded and sore. But otherwise, I am okay." He glanced at the IV bags, which were almost empty now.

"You sure?" Dean still wasn't too convinced.

"Yeah. By the way, what happened? Why am I in a hospital, Dean?" Sam asked with confusion.

"You don't remember?" Dean didn't know if he should be happy or concerned.

"That's why I am asking, genius!" Sam smirked and Dean snorted.

"What's the last thing you remembered?"

"Well…" Sam's face was somewhat sad or disappointed. "…umm, I…ah, I was asking Dad for some bucks you know. It…it was for our school trip. But…" Sam looked away from his big brother, he really didn't wanna b*tch about his father, but he knew Dean wouldn't leave him until he finished. "…Dad denied it and then…" he seemed to be thinking, "…when I was returning home, I met someone. Some old man. I saved him from an accident and then he took me to his home and said if I give him a sitting for this portrait he would give me twenty dollar per sitting. Then…after that I don't remember anything until now."

"Oh Sammy, I am so sorry." Before Dean could say something, John entered the room and sat down beside Sam. He eyes were glistening as he took his youngest son's hand into him. "I am so sorry Sam. I practically made you get trapped in that witch's clutch. If I had given you the money then, nothing woulda' happened." John whole body was shaking in resentment.

Sam was confused now. Why was his dad acting this way? What actually had happened?

"Dad it's okay! What…what happened?" he looked at Dean now with worried face.

"Sammy, the painter was a Strigoilor witch who sucked the pure life force out off young kids like you. He made portraits to capture his prey's entity inside it and made them go against their family so he could get their consent. He trapped young children with its fake generosity and made them his prey. He trapped you and almost sucked your entire life force out. If we had been just a few minutes late…you could have…" Dean couldn't say the last words. He didn't want to say those cruel words ever.

"I am sorry." Sam said quietly.

John's head shot up from its stooped position as Sam said it. Dean was also confused.

"Why are you apologizing Sammy?" John asked.

Sam lowered his head and swallowed. "It was my fault. If I hadn't been so rebellious or eager to earn money, nothing would have happened. I was stupid, Dad! And…and…" He was almost verge of tears. "I'm sorry." A single teardrop fell from his mossy green eyes.

"No, No Sammy…" John said quickly and wiped the tear away from his son's eyes. "…not your fault. It was never your fault. I should have researched more and made sure that everything was right. So, it's not your fault and don't you ever go that way. Alright boy!" John said with a big smile plastered onto his face.

"Alright." Sam answered softly and smiled. "So, when I can get outta here?"

"Most probably tomorrow. The doctor wants to keep you one more day for observation." John answered.

Sam nodded and yawned. "Ahh okay. Besides, I don't have anything to do right now. My class is already gone for that excursion anyway."

Dean and John stole their glances as Sam said those words unintentionally. They could understand how important and encouraging the tour was for Sam.

John silently pulled something from his pocket and handed to Sam. "Here, take it."

Sam looked at the envelop with surprise. "What's that?" But he already tore open the top of the envelop.

John and Dean didn't say anything but they enjoyed every bit of surprise and joy that was showing in Sam's expressive face when he pulled out fifty dollars from it.

"What! Dad! You…but…?" Sam didn't know what to say. He was considering, if he should say 'Christo' or not!

"Don't say anything Sam. Keep it. It's a simple present from a jacka** Dad to his son." John answered smiling.

"But Dad, the excursion has already been started…" Sam's voice drifted as Dean interrupted.

"Not yet Sammy. Your teacher called and informed me that your tour has been post pone because a serious jacka** named Matthew got suspended for his extra curricular activities and school authority had to cancel the program. So, it will start again next week and you can attend it." Dean announced with a large grin.

Sam's eyes went wide, as he was digesting the news.

"Whoa."

"And…" Dean wasn't finished yet, "…your fee that are needed for your stupid excursion has been covered. Soooo Sammy boy, now you can start a hula-dance, because you're going to analyze some stupid Geological or whatever stuff and save the earth." Dean finished with an utterly stupid grin.

Sam and John stared at him a couple of minutes incredulously and then Sam rolled his eyes.

"Jerk. How long was I out?" Sam sounded amazed.

"B*tch. Long enough baby brother." An instant reply came quickly.

Before Sam could argue anymore Dean blurted again. Evil intensions were still playing in his mind.

"And, hey Sam. Know what, you should get laid with some random chick sometime soon…"

Sam eyes once again became huge like golf balls as Dean random babbling suddenly came out of the blue and a deep pink shade of embarrassment formed on his cheeks. His Dad was now smirking too.

"Dea…"

Again he had to shut up, because his stupid a** big brother was still yammering. "Because, due to your intact virginity or whatever crap it was, you got you're a** kicked…"

"Dean! SHUT THE HELL UP." Sam shouted in embarrassment, though he wasn't sure what the hell Dean was talking about.

Dean still was on. "Annnnd…" his voice trailed as a big tissue box hit him directly in the center of his face and an "oomph" sound escaped from his mouth.

"What the…" Dean was rubbing his sore nose and whined to his Dad like he was a small child, not an experienced hunter.

"Daaadd…"

"Serves you right." Now John was laughing. _God_, his boys were adorable.

"What happened Dad?" Sam tried to ignore Dean but 'this was Dean' and he wasn't done annoying his little brother.

"Long story b*tch. I will tell you later as a bedtime story." Dean once again grinned with incredible stupidity.

"Jerk."

"Freak."

John knew what was coming now and he quickly got up from his seat and practically ran to the exit. He heard Sam reply back at Dean and again Dean retorted…

"Virgin."

"Daaad…" came Sam's incessant whining but quickly morphed into a payback.

"Sluttttttttt…Daaaddd…" a sound of giggling and gasping that was made by a tickling war filled the whole hospital room and he smiled with a content heart. He got his son back, his baby boy was saved. Brothers were once again being brothers and that made John heart filled with pure happiness.

He shook his head and laughed, "Oh Boys! What I'm gonna do with you?"

***************************** *****~~** THE END **~~***** ******************************

**I want to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, alerted and saved this story to their favorite lists. ****I've thoroughly enjoyed interacting with you and hope to have the opportunity to interact with you again on my next piece.**

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**Thank You,**

**Ritu.**


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